


all the ways to love you

by dreamyshadows



Series: amor vincit omnia [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU - Cowboys, Angst, Early in Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlets, First Kiss, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Stanford Era, Unrequited Love, castiel - Freeform, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamyshadows/pseuds/dreamyshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>samdean written for prompts on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. stardust

**Author's Note:**

> these are all vague, mostly disconnected pieces that i've penned. just moving them all on my ao3.

[ **my tumblr** ](brothersandlovers.tumblr.com/tagged/wincest-writing)

 

1\. things you said when you were scared

 

It was always there inside you, this darkness. This hole that kept on becoming wider, kept on swallowing the happiness around you, and kept on taking everything beautiful you’d ever known. _He’s scared. So, so scared._

You try to smile through the pain, you stretch your chapped lips, you raise your fists to the sky and pray for redemption. For absolution, for salvation. But nothing comes to you – no sign, no angels, no nothing. Only a life you’ve already lived for so many years; the usual suspects of sorrow and sadness eating you alive and _yet you still pray._

Dean watches you like a hawk, like a child and a parent all rolled into one, like someone who’s life is slowly falling apart in front of their eyes. You want to stop him; want to pick up his pain and fold it into red roses, want to spread the flowers before his feet, want to line his path with eternal beauty and so much more. But you can’t. You are scared and like a small boy, you fold in on yourself. Dean watches you silently, quietly waiting, smiling through the pain. 

At night, you whisper “sorry, sorry, sorry” like a littany to his half-asleep ears, heart thumping underneath strong fingers etching your life like a map, like the world has conspired to bring you two to this point. Still asleep, he smiles again, mumbling things like, “don’t be, I’m here, I’ve always got you, always will.”

And in euphoric moments of understanding, you know suddenly that _this_ is what you have been praying for since you could feel that hole in your soul. The softly sleeping body next to you is what you have been running towards your whole life; this is the salvation you have always sought, and this is the absolution you will never stop receiving.

 

\----

 

2\. things you said with too many miles between us

 

The road is long, always has been. Twists and turns, potholes and speed bumps, they’ve all made the journey somehow more real – flaws that remind him of their lives, the lack of perfection a reminder of more visceral truths. 

Visceral truths like the sleeping boy next to him, long limbs cramped in the Impala’s front seat, and heart thudding so loud he can hear it over the soft rock playing on the radio. This is his reality; brother laying shotgun beside him, Seger humming something about night moves and his own heart responding to the age old tune Sam set since they were children. 

In here, in the caged heat between them and Baby eating up miles as they go, he whispers his other visceral truths. Sings them to himself like hymns of old; the words _love_ and _Sam_ and _brother_ winding eternally around the leather of the car, the memories of million motels, and a hundred fantasies centered around a soft mouth and a gold heart. 

They are so close to each other in this car, in this _home,_ but still in a way, so far. Dean holds those truths to his heart, between the thousands of miles he and his brother have traversed together, between Heaven and Hell, and between moments of Bitch and Jerk. 

When Sam wakes up, he halts his singing and just smiles; silent truths are still truths  – even if they go unheard.

 

\----

 

3\. things you said too quietly

 

Dean has always been the more talkative one; words flow from his mouth as seamlessly as the waterfall they’d chanced upon while hunting their first werewolf in the woods. They are just as clear, just as rejuvenating, and just as welcome as they were on that hot day when Sam was thirsting for a drop of water.

They are also just as powerful, just as destructive, and just as painful as that waterfall. Pressure too much to bear, burn so strong that Sam has to step back and take a minute to try and not drown. Yes, his brother has always been more talkative, but he has also carried weapons in his words. Guttural and painful, they hit him in ways no bullet can, pierce him in ways that shatter his soul.

For the longest time, these dark things spewed freely from Dean’s mouth – his way of coping, his way of dealing, his way of rationalizing all the bad that had ever happened in their lives. 

Words drip poison on to Sam’s heart, his own tongue curling inside his mouth, wanting to _lash and bite and hurt and claw;_ let his brother feel the pain a few damn syllables have wrought on his entire being. But where Dean has been more verbose, Sam has been more reserved. He says his own fair share of things, his own hurt leaking into his voice, poison everywhere before he realizes, _this is not the way to be._

The moment when the Sun meets the horizon, he takes it upon himself to recarve their relationship. Pain and hurt go hand in hand, but so do recovery and happiness. So he pushes Dean onto a bed, grasps his fingers and whispers things, _so many things, too many things,_ into his ears. It is only a beginning, but it is something. Here, the words are not retaliations, but symbols of a relationship built from bones and blood. Here they are more than just poisoned apples waiting for destruction – here they are carefully crafted love notes, floating eternally on the waterfall of their stitched lives. 

 

\----

 

4\. things you said when you were drunk

 

His voice is slurred, shaky even. Fingers tremble when he reaches for the phone, nearly break the glass he’s holding because they just won’t stop dancing this mad tune.

On the other end of the line, the boy of his dreams – his nightmares – picks up, hesitant “Sammy?” the only precursor to this painful conversation. At his small tone, he smiles, lips pulling against gravity, pulling against pain, against all the damn alcohol he’s been inhaling since 12 AM.

“Hey Dean.”

Sam hears rustling, boots being pulled on, a belt being buckled, and he knows where this is going to go. It’s why he shouldn’t have called – but drinking has never been his strong suit… his love for his brother has never been a strong suit.

“Sam, you okay?”

No, no he’s not. He never will be; but he knows this. So he smiles into the phone, feels tears drop on to his whitened knuckles, and says the thing he should had said the moment Dean picked up the phone.

“Happy Birthday Dean.”

And with a choked sob on both ends, the call drops.

 

\----


	2. constellations

5\. wincest from castiel's perspective

 

He’s been here a long time. 

A _long_ time. Long enough to see the different faces of love and hate. A thousand facets of emotion all littered on the surface of the world, myriads of feelings reflecting onto humans, some destructive, some constructive. 

An angel does not _feel_ emotion, but they can sense it. Even before he’d been stationed on Earth, Castiel had heard whispered tales of this doomed thing – these feelings. How they corrupted and tortured, how they broke and twisted; how they ruined perfectly good soldiers and mutilated them into rebels. 

So naturally, Castiel guards himself against it. 

Guards himself against it until the day he realizes the strength of emotions between Sam and Dean Winchester. _Righteous man and Abomination._ Names heaven has cast on them, names that do none of them the justice they deserve.

Castiel prefers Sam and Dean. _Or boys._

From his vantage point, he sees his boys become entrenched in each other over the years. Fingers always grasping, lips always twisting around each other’s names, souls constantly crying for their other halves. Castiel _hears_ those pleas; listens valiantly to the suffering of each brother’s essence, listens until he can hear no more. 

They are so bonded, these boys. Fused at levels no angel, no God can even _begin_ to understand. It is a love that will destroy them, he decides. Nothing with the intensity of an apocalypse can bring good news.

_He’s wrong._

It’s this intensity that saves the planet, and it’s this love that saves their souls.

 

\----

 

6\. coming out to their friends

 

They’re nervous. _Understandable,_ Dean argues with himself. This one act is breaking about a hundred laws, and he doesn’t really know whether or not it’s actually a good idea.

Next to him, Sam smiles, fingers softly stroking his pulse. The movement has always been calming to Dean; reminder that their hearts beat together, that they are together, that nothing can take them away from each other. 

Dean exhales.

It’s been a year since they’ve settled into this town. A year since they’ve been out of huntin’ creepy crawlies; a full year since any of them has dislocated anything or needed any major stitches. _This is huge._

Gina, their neighbor, is a sweetheart. She’s got the world’s most welcoming face, with dimples that can rival Sam’s – but of course Sammy’s are better, no competition – and has been nothing but nice since these two strangers walked into her town. 

She’s handing out pamphlets for a yard sale next week, knowing how Dean’s big on saving money and getting a good deal. Her smile is infectious, and in tune with Sam’s gentle hands, works wonders on calming Dean down. He smiles back, grabbing the pamphlet and making a mental list of the things they need.

“Hey uh, Gina, we wanted to say something to you and the others.”

It’s Sam who says it, because it’s always been Sam whose had the guts to do these things. He’d been the one to push Dean into the car, the one to start the ignition, and the one who’d half carried him into their new home. Sam’s good at this stuff – the accepting and the making other’s accept. 

“Y’all finally decide to reveal your relationship status?”

Both Sam and Dean choke on the words, the pamphlet crumpling into a ball at the sudden declaration. Gina looks at them with aplomb, eyebrows rising when none of the boys say a word. 

“Oh my goodness, you thought we wouldn’t know?”

Now she’s actually surprised and her dimples are in their full glory. Dean grumbles, ire at being the butt of the joke showing on his face. _Dammit._ But Sam, on the other hand, is beginning to have his own fun.

“I guess we aren’t that good at hiding things.”

Both Gina and Sam laugh, Dean scowling at his unfortunate position, making another list of how to kick his little brother’s ass.

 

\----

 

7\. cowboys

 

This is quite possibly, the _worst_ Sam has ever looked in their disguises ridden lives. He should have known his brother would do something like this – it’s Dean’s penultimate goal, to make Sam look like the world’s biggest idiot.

Here he is, standing in the room with a leather vest and a strarchy rolled up shirt, tacky plastic “Sheriff” pinned to his chest. This is the limit. 

In front of him, Dean is smiling away into glory, own costume bordering on hilarity. This stupid _Wild Western_ kink that his brother has is too much – no matter how pretty Dean begs, they’re not going to fuck looking like rejected cowboys.

“Sammy -”

Before his brother can say something stupid he’s memorized from the Eastwood movies, he turns on his ass and walks into the bathroom.

Predictably, his brother is banging on the door, asking Sam to stop being such a priss. Dean’s rattling on about his broad shoulders and _oh Sammy that Sheriff badge._ His brother has always had a thing about authority.

Despite himself, Sam walks out of the bathroom. There’s still a scowl on his face at Dean’s dumb games, but when his brother kisses him all slow and sloppy, it magicks into a wide smile, heart singing against Dean’s chest.

Tonight, the world is alright. 

 

\----

 

8\. angsty thoughts on the death of the other

 

His death isn’t just the loss of a human. It’s the loss of half his soul.

It’s been a week since he’s buried Dean, been a week since the dirt hid his brother away from his forever, been a week since he’s felt his heart beat. In the quiet silence of the night, Sam sees no reason for existence. No reason for breath. _No reason for nothing._

There are no words to intricate the emptiness inside his heart; nothing to explain why his blood no longer runs through his veins, simply circulates to keep his body running. Circulates so that his eyes remain open, so that his mind remains sharp.

It’s the only way he can still see Dean.

Laughing, smiling, and being his brother; this is all Sam needs. Memories and created moments he can live with for a few months.

He knows Dean will return.

—

The room around him lays in ruins. Broken chairs, unhinged portraits. The chaos is an ode to his broken heart and incomplete soul. 

It’s been a week since he’s buried Sam. 

Over a dozen liquor bottles decorate the ruined mattress, shards of glass jutting from the down, beckoning him to lift one and raise it to his neck. It’ll be quick. Easy.

Much easier than living without his brother. 

But he doesn’t. Dean stumbles away from the seductive thought, unsteady on his legs like a new colt, and falls into a chair. He has to be whole. 

He knows Sam will return.

 

\----

 

9\. first kiss

 

it doesn’t happen like he thought it would.

There’s no shame, for starters. There’s no, _we’re brothers, this is so wrong, this is not supposed to happen._ But maybe he’s getting ahead of himself – maybe that part will come later.

Right now, his little brother has his hands fisted in Dean’s collar, puppy dog eyes all twisted with anger and lust. It’s a good look on him, he muses. 

Everything is a good look on Sam. 

From the time they were teenagers, his brother has held this brittle beauty, this ephemeral softness that hides a stronger center. Shy hazel lenses have become melted emeralds, soft grass green radiating feelings pushed away for years. Feelings Dean understands, reciprocates, and craves with every fiber of his being. 

_He’s waited so, so long for this._

Dean’s fingers find their way to Sam’s soft face, skin dancing on skin, trying in earnest to remove his scowl and replace it with a smile. He knows it will happen. He’s seen this coming ever since he drove to Palo Alto; knows his lips will become his brother’s soon enough.

Dean has always belonged to Sam – this is simply another addition to the list.

When it happens, everything explodes. His little brother’s lips are soft and sweet, feeding him apples that fell from the Tree, and Dean knows he’s lost. Hesitant slide of tongue, quickly rising to a demand, enters his mouth and he feels the sensation in his gut.

“ _I can’t lose you. I won’t-”_

He hears the words at the edge of his mind, words he knows mean so much to Sam, words that are the reason this is happening. But Dean doesn’t want to listen – no, he wants to feel. 

He kisses Sam back, _drowning, drowning, drowning_ into the madness that is his brother. Teeth and tongue slide against each other in an enthralling dance, sweet scent of apples pervading the air around him. It’s so heady, this feeling. Dean has never been so fulfilled in his life, has never felt so at peace as he does right now.

Sam smiles against his mouth, the lift of lips tugging at Dean’s heartstrings. 

“ _I’ve wanted you for so long, Dean.”_

_“Me too.”  
_

And he knows that nothing will ever be the same again. 

 

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feeback loved


End file.
